


Finger Foods

by MajorEnglishEsquire



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cooking, Dean Whump, Fast Food, Food, Food Issues, Hunters & Hunting, Light Angst, M/M, Team Free Will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-03-01 23:50:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2792183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MajorEnglishEsquire/pseuds/MajorEnglishEsquire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><a href="http://deanhugchester.tumblr.com/post/104369620435/i-want-fics-about-dean-and-cas-eating-each-others">deanhugchester</a>: I want fics about Dean and Cas eating each other’s food.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finger Foods

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own the rights to these characters, setting, show, etc. No harm is intended.

"Every night is pizza night for a hunter," Dean explains. "It's got all your necessities as far as fuel. Starch, protein, fat. Animal, vegetable. And you don't have to remember forks or knives. You grab a 2-liter, you pick up a pizza, you're set."

Cas nods, taking in the information seriously. "But you're getting meat-lovers. No vegetables."

"Tomato sauce, Cas. And the garlic sauce. Good enough. And Sam will toss me half his onions. The three of us, though, and after a day like today? We better make it two pies, _at least_. I can go half-and-half on one and I'll eat what you don't want. Or we could get three and have leftovers for breakfast. What do you want on yours?"

Cas studies the website over Dean's shoulder. "Sam's looks colorful," he notes the bright lines of the peppers. "I like cheese."

"You're not a ten-year-old kid, Cas, you need more than just cheese pizza. Sam thinks it's enough protein but I think you should start off with a little more. How about pepperoni? It's a classic," Dean clicks around on the ordering website.

"Pepperoni and... peppers."

"And extra cheese?"

Cas squints like he thinks that's asking for too much, so Dean gets the extra cheese because it's not too much. He wants Cas to like it.

"They've got the one with the cheese inside the crust, don't they?" Sam pops up from behind his own laptop.

Dean quirks a brow at Cas and Cas doesn't react except to tighten his lips and keep squinting.

Dean gets the cheesy crust.

The 2-liters are mostly out when they pick their order up at the store, so Dean leaves Cas in the Impala with the pizza boxes and darts across the shopping center to buy drinks at the nearby Quick Mart.

He ends up with a sixer of beer because they had Sam's favorite and he grabs a Cherry Coke and a Vanilla Coke out of the coolers.

Back at the motel Sam exiles himself to the far bed with his own pizza and the beer and he even gets to watch his stupid news docs. Dean might be feeling a little bad that the entire left side of his face is completely black and blue from a really vicious demon attack that he hadn't been there to back Sam up on. Hence the hipster beer at like eight bucks a bottle.

Dean and Cas set up at the kitchenette table and Sam only comes to drop off a slice of veggie for Cas to try, and a bunch of stray onions for Dean.

Cas enjoys playing with his cheesy crust more than he likes the pepperoni. He likes the sausage on Dean's pizza more, so they, well.

Swap meat.

Dean forks over a bunch of sausage and Cas takes the majority of pepperonis off his side and dumps them over.

Then has the audacity to steal the onions for himself.  
Not that Dean says anything about it.

They keep the Cokes in the center of the table, at either side, and Cas trades off drinking out of each one. A sip of cherry, a sip of vanilla, a sip of cherry, a sip of vanilla. Dean finishes those off, himself, when Cas makes a face and asks for water.

«»

It's subs the next night of the hunt. The first thing they do back in the motel room is open up their sandwiches and parse through the parts. They swap slices of cheeses out until Cas is happy with how his is arranged and then he only eats half and destroys a whole bag of Cheetos almost by himself.

Dean smirks over and waves his cheese-dusted fingers over the table at him. "You have enough there, big guy? Or you wanna suck it off my fingers, too?"

Sam's head whips around and he's a giant pair of white eyes across the room.

Yeah. Uh.  
Dean just realized how that might have sounded.

He drops his hand and Cas's eyes follow it like he was considering that as an honest offer.

Dean clears his throat. "We'll get you the nacho Doritos next time."

«»

They're driving across the state line because another body popped up overnight and they're starting to worry that the thing they're hunting realized and is making a run for it.

Cas pops into view in the rear-view mirror like he'd been jolted. His head swivels and he turns to watch a sign until it completely disappears behind them.

"What's wrong, Cas?" Sam eyes him over the seat.

"Nacho Cheese Doritos Locos Taco Supreme," he quotes.

So they know where they're stopping for lunch.

Dean had promised Doritos, after all, and he hasn't yet introduced Cas to the varied wonders of liquid cheese, either.

«»

"No, I feel gross," Sam says. "There's a Panera Bread on the other side of town. I can get a damn salad there, at least."

"It's a Bar _and Grill_ , Sammy, I'm sure they can get your fruity ass a fuckin' salad."

"Dude, I literally can't even sit and watch you feed him any more cheese. I'm not going to sit there and watch you guys pig out on that monstrosity. I'll see you later," he declares and, for emphasis, slams the motel door behind him.

Cas looks a little weird after that display.

"He's not disgusted with you or anything, Cas," Dean assures him.

"I wouldn't want him to be."

"He just needs to have Meatless Mondays sometimes or he feels like a traitor to his entire hippie race or something. He'll have some fuckin' tofu and calm down. Let's go."

There had been a sandwich board out front of the local joint that had specified beer and loaded cheese fries as being on special, so they decided to make a meal of it. The cheese fries do really come LOADED. Chives, bacon, various cheeses, all layered in with the fries, a little kick of spice in the seasoning, and an excellent ranch sauce for dipping.

They get a huge platter of it and a couple local brews on tap.

Dean knows how to navigate the plate, now. If a fry is piled with cheese, he pushes it to Cas's side. And if a fry has crusty, well-done cheese, Cas pushes it to Dean's side. Cas likes the ranch sauce more and Dean likes the bacon more. Cas lets Dean grab the fries with the most chives whether they're cheesy or not.

The beer is just right, just perfectly cool, just the right kind of refreshing for the saltiness of the fries. There are some college basketball games on the televisions over the bar area that he can see while they eat. In all honesty it's a pretty good time. Cas shares some of his tastes and he kind of likes learning what Cas is learning to like. Watching him develop preferences.

It's also, naturally, kind of flattering that Cas is starting to notice Dean's tastes, too.

They don't talk much, but Cas smiles a lot. He looks happy. He asks some questions, but mostly they just enjoy their time together.

Dean gets only one text from Sam while they sit.

**I get dibs next time. You haven't told Cas about broccoli cheddar soup yet.**

Dammnit.

«»

Before they move on to other culinary experiences together, there's a sudden and messy end to the hunt, complete with a hostage situation. A witch holds an actual magic fucking wand to Dean's head, demanding the release and return of her master, the demon they'd been after--

Utterly unaware that said demon already had herself splayed out like an asterisk on the county road, nailed to the asphalt with Cas's angel blade.

It gets dicey, Dean gets hurled through a wall, and they end up smuggling him out of the hospital as soon as he regains consciousness.

Cas eases Dean into the back seat and props him up. "They brought you things. None of it looked edible or even interesting. Except this," he pulls a bright-red Jell-O cup out of his coat pocket and hands it over.

Dean's yawn is arrested by the sudden bolt of pain in his jaw and he could seriously stand to pass out all over again. He must have some serious skull damage.

He grabs hold of a fistful of Cas's jacket and pulls him in beside himself. Motions for Sam to go ahead and start the car.

"Spoon?" he asks.

Cas produces a spork he'd gotten with his Taco Bell a few days ago. He unwraps it and they share. Strawberry isn't Dean's favorite but they both pass the spork until the cup is empty. Then he falls into Castiel's side and Cas rearranges them so he can sleep half the drive home, breathing into the tan coat.

«»

Sam can cook, but nothing too "fancy" as he says. It's all just fine in Cas's opinion but Sam resorts to frozen Stouffer's and Lean Cuisines as often as he cooks. Cas is okay with the frozen foods. They're fun and they get you fed. But they're also the exact same each time you unwrap them. They don't get delivery at the bunker and, until Dean is on his feet for more than five minutes without feeling like he's gonna fall down, the two of them cobble things together.

Sam has packets of seasoning and he and Cas crowd in front of the computer watching people on YouTube cook things correctly so they can emulate what they make.

Things like pork chops and sloppy joes are easy enough. They wake Dean up or join him on the couch in front of the TV to eat and, even if it's just Hot Pockets they hand off to him, he says "thanks" and "nice job, Sammy," and asks if Cas is learning much from him.

Cas is learning.  
He's learning the limits of his impatience.

Things from packets and pre-made sauces and Hungry Man dinners just don't smell as good. They don't stay hot for as long as restaurant food and they don't even have the sharp and fatty flavors of fast food. His yearning for experience has already far outstripped the variety of peanut butters and jellies available in the pantry. And he knows Dean was just starting to really show him all the different food options available. He hadn't wanted that to stop so suddenly.

He does his own research.

Sam is dubious about the shopping list he's handed, but he purchases everything, to the letter. He remembers when he once handed Cas an herb for a spell that wasn't precisely what he'd requested -- a few loose leaves instead of an entire sprig -- and he has no desire to see Castiel's hardened disappointment directed at him ever again.

Dean had been moping about not having had the opportunity to introduce Cas to Chinese food. So Castiel gets to work on constructing a stir fry.

(After all, Sam had thrown in a box of Cheez-Its with the other groceries so he thinks he can save the cheese-heavy recipes for some other time.)

He had determined that chicken would be the best meat to start off cooking on his own. It's easy to know if it's been cooked well enough for consumption. You just heat it until it's not pink inside and you take it off heat before it gets too brown. No risk of anyone getting sick if you pay attention.

And he can please a wider audience, with consideration for Sam, by making it a peanut stir-fry. But he still would rather Sam wasn't there to bear witness if he seriously made an awful mess of everything, and had to resort to more frozen dinners. So he turns down his offer of help and takes to the task on his own. The whole, wide kitchen to himself.

Dean wanders in at some point when he's almost done with his prep and Cas tries to stay on task, uninfluenced by his audience, so he pretends as if he doesn't notice.

Until he hooks his chin over Cas's shoulder and watches him scooping up chopped cilantro.

"Go easy on that, Cas," Dean says in a low voice, "Sam wouldn't say anything to you about it, but cilantro kinda bugs him."

Cas's shoulders slump so deeply, so suddenly that Dean drops off of him with one startled laugh.

Cas puts his knife down and shoves the cutting board away.

"Hey, hey. It's alright. Just a little won't bother him so much. And all you gotta do is make up for it by adding more of another flavor."

He cringes a little. "I don't have a recipe for that." He hadn't considered that any single ingredient would really be unappealing to either of them. He'd really only taken note of the things they liked.

"Don't worry about it. What have you got so far?" Dean starts pawing through Cas's neat little measured cups of garlic, cayenne, sugar, cut peppers, ginger, and things. "Alright, look. It's mostly garnish, okay? So we do a little more onion-- I mean, I like onion, Sam's alright with it, you are, too, right? So we have more of what we like and less of what we don't need. We don't really _need_ that much cilantro, so fuck it."

He can read Cas's protest before he voices it. "Hey, not everything's in a recipe. And after you work off a recipe, you normally end up tweaking it, anyway, to suit what you thought was missing or what you didn't end up liking. You work on it. You don't get everything perfect in one shot." Dean squeezes Cas's shoulder in reassurance and they move forward on the steps of the recipe together. When Dean starts to weave on his feet a little, Cas pulls an old stool over and makes him sit.

There's a lot to like about the meal when it's all divided up on three plates and delivered, picture-perfect, to the table where Sam pushes aside his books to eat with them.

But Dean was right. There are things Cas would change about it. And he discovers that that's okay.

The cilantro was really unnecessary and when Sam had had enough of what little there was, he went to the trouble of picking it off. Dean tried to distract Cas with conversation so he wouldn't see, but he did.

And he wouldn't want it quite so sweet next time. So he makes these notes on the recipe and flips the page on his notebook to the next one.

Over the next few days, Cas progresses through the other meals he wanted to try cooking. Results are varied. He pays more attention to what they each dislike about the meals as he pretty much already has an established knowledge of what they do like. And he plans to make reasonable adjustments to each in the future.

At Sam's prompting, he also makes a salad dressing that Dean will be unable to resist. Sam explains the value in emotional manipulation and blatantly conspires with Cas to this end: salads are healthy and Dean doesn't get enough of them. He will also reject almost any attempt to get him to eat one, but if Cas makes it up and mixes the dressing by hand, Dean will recognize that Cas is trying to be nice and will eat it without making as much of a fuss.

"Also, you throw bacon bits on top and he'll think he's eating 'real' food."

For full effect, Cas asks Dean if he likes it in the middle of their meal. In an instant, Sam darts a look at Dean with these huge, fluffy-duffy doe-eyes before he can even swallow his food and reply.

Yeah.

Dean nods. "It's really great, Cas."

They don't even wait before the table is cleared to fist-bump and Dean resolves to shake off the fucking head trauma and get better, faster.

«»

He comes to the kitchen a lot more often, mostly to prevent salad from being forced upon him again, but also as moral support to Cas. The cooking is going well, but Dean can sit on a stool next to the stove and stir something while Cas attends to other ingredients. They can make changes on the fly when Cas notices something is completely frozen through because it was sitting at the very back of the fridge for too long. And they start to make lists of which foods they might want to try.

Sam will come in to reclaim his laptop but he won't stay for long because he doesn't want anyone to notice he hasn't been pulling his weight washing dishes. He'll brew coffee, he'll run out to get the groceries, and he'll certainly taste-test when Dean and Cas can't decide on something between the two of them, but he doesn't linger.

Part of it is that he kinda wants to see a return to before. Before the hunt-gone-wrong, when Dean and Cas were starting to really settle into this new routine. With the majority of the angel-demon drama behind them, it's nice to see that Dean has found a version of 'normal' that works for him and that still includes Cas.

Sam wants Cas around. Cas is awesome, strong, knowledgeable. But he also wants him around because Castiel makes his brother happy.

He's started a project that doesn't need to involve either of them much. It's sort of an effort to add to the Men of Letters catalogue the things that they've fought and seen. He's done most the research in this family, in the first place, so until it gets to their own eyewitness accounts of their endeavors, he doesn't really have to involve Dean. He finds his voice constructing accounts of their hunts and it's taking up a lot of his day. And, he thinks, this might be good work for him for a while.

The rooms are a little stuffy down here, though, as the spring turns into summer. And he kind of wants the road and the open air again.

If he just piled them into the car, Dean would want to be out hunting. Dean isn't really much for vacations. So, maybe, he'll head for the mountains on his own. Look for a nice view to gaze out on in the moments between chapters.

He thinks about it for a while before he actually decides to go.

In the kitchen, one day, he comes in to the sight of Dean tasting something off a spoon Cas holds up for him.

And about a three-foot-thick pile of used dishes on the counter.

Sam isn't a matchmaker or a coward.

He just loves his brother and he hates doing dishes.

He also doesn't object to living off his own limited cooking skills for a while, so he lets Dean and Cas know he's taking a vacation to go write.

Dean's first trip out on his own, since he was thrown through a wall on that hunt several weeks previous, is a drive into town solely for the purpose of purchasing huge mirror shades, a large bottle of brandy, and a corn-cob pipe for Sam.

He's got a truly amazing idea of what a writer is. Sam suspects his own venture will be more like Chuck's. Less brandy, more beer. He might pick out a nice robe to lounge around in.

«»

Cas packs some bags because he's sure that Dean will get antsy without Sam in the house. He usually can't stand to stay away from him long and, at the very least, will need to be out and active and on the road, hunting something, to distract himself.

But, after two weeks, there the bags still sit. He brushes by them each day. Picks through them for clothes as necessary before leaving his room to start breakfast. And each day is still an adventure, even when they only leave the house to visit the grocery store or go out to a restaurant.

He thinks Dean is just indulging him. Any minute a hunt will come across Dean's very accurate mental radar as he scans the news on the Internet.

But it just doesn't happen.

He's hunting for new recipes more often than for suspicious deaths, when he's online. He e-mails Sam to check up on him but, despite threats, doesn't call him so long as he answers the messages.

And, if he were here, Sam would be relieved to know that they've reduced the amount of dishes they dirty by just cooking for the two of them.

They even share plates, at this point. It's like with the giant platter of loaded cheese fries. They just throw a bunch of stuff on one plate and shuffle around pieces to whichever one of them would most prefer each bite.

Once Dean even handed over his fork because he decided it was just too good for Cas to miss such a flawless piece of steak and onions.

Cas had just traded forks with him and passed over a buttery hunk of baked potato.

Not every meal is like that, but it gets... more intimate. More than just passing a bottle of booze between them or eating out of the same take-out carton. They'll be pressed together on the couch and Cas will scoop Pringles out of the can, hold one up to the side for Dean to lean forward and snag with his tongue, and then eat one for himself, trading off.

They will pass a carton of gelato back and forth with two spoons. Cas will decide he's tired of his soda and slide his across the table, snagging Dean's instead.

And then Cas splashes orange juice over his hand on accident while Dean's asking him how he wants his eggs. Almost in passing, Dean snags his hand, lifts it, and chases orange juice down Cas's wrist with his tongue.

When he lets go he simply stands there like he's still waiting for an answer.

"Um. Scrambled. Please. With ham?"

"Sure," Dean says, and moves about the kitchen to gather everything.

They already bump elbows at the stove and it's not a matter of spilled food the next time, but something a little harsher: a whole lot of boiling water runs over onto Dean's hand. He hisses in pain and Cas grabs him to blow cool air over the area as he's dragging him to the sink for cold water. They douse it and dig an ice cube out of the freezer for him to hold. Then, when it's nearly melted and Dean's whining about how he went from burned to numb from cold, Cas just pulls his hand up and sucks Dean's thumb into his mouth, soothing it with his tongue, before releasing him and telling him to stir the pasta.

Dean doesn't act frazzled. So Cas is sure he's not supposed to act on the inner upheaval he feels over these actions.

In fact, every time, from then on, that drops of sauce cling to Dean's lips or chin, he wonders if he should comment on what a waste it is and just run his tongue up and over Dean's mouth.

But it's Dean who reaches out, at their next meal, to take a napkin to the sticky glaze still at the corner of Cas's lips. He dips the cloth in his glass before reaching over and scrubbing until it's off and Cas simply thanks him.

"Sure," Dean smiles.

And Cas tilts his head. Because Dean said that same thing in that same tone when he'd licked Castiel's wrist clean of orange juice.

There's a trembly undercurrent to it. And a twitch of Dean's fingers as he clatters their used silverware onto their plate.

He gets up and starts taking the dishes they'd used for prep over to the sink.

Cas blinks after him. Watching for something.

Dean seems to go about his business. Checks over his shoulder. "Hey, bring that over. And the glasses," he calls.

"Sure," Cas responds, and clinks a glass against a plate but doesn't move.

He watches and sees, when Dean doesn't think he's being watched, as Dean folds a fist tight, shakes it at himself, and knocks it against his head. He can't quite hear, over the running water across the room, as he calls himself, "fucking moron, goddamn _idiot_ ," but can nearly see his mouth form the words.

Whatever this is, Dean thinks he's screwing it up already.  
It hasn't even really started yet.  
He's so unfair to himself.

Cas shakes his head and gathers the dishes. He lets Dean scrub everything up on his own and turns to get the iPad to look up a recipe.

Pie, right? Dean is always extolling the virtues of good pie. And he loves pie. It would go to prove to him that he's done nothing wrong. That this is working.

But they're between grocery store runs right now. He's looking at several options and he simply doesn't have the ingredients he'd need to make pie at the moment.

Or even cookies, now that he's looking through everything.

But there are smaller, simpler desserts. Like cake in a mug and brownie in a mug. They can be thrown together in five minutes and microwaved. Instant gratification. Perfect.

Cas starts pulling the ingredients together and sweeps by Dean to grab two coffee cups off the shelf.

Two minutes to cook after everything's assembled. By the time Dean's done with the dishes, he can have two mug cakes. Cake isn't Dean's favorite but he won't turn his nose up at it and they've got _just_ enough milk and vegetable oil left for the two servings.

The batter stays gooey and he has to keep nuking the mugs by the time Dean wanders over, curious, drying his hands on a towel. He starts to ask, but Cas just raises a finger and it shuts him up. He leans against the counter and snags one of the caramels.

He starts turning the other boxes and things around so Cas snatches them back and starts putting them back in the pantry.

Finally he hands a fork and mug over and lets Dean ask.

"Brownie?"

"Cake. Chocolate with salted caramel."

"Nice," Dean nods and digs in. They enjoy their mini cakes quietly, leaning next to each other, up against the counter.

"Thanks," Dean says with his mouth full.

"You're welcome. Thank you for cleaning up."

"We got a list? I think we need to head to town tomorrow."

"Yes, but I'd like to add some things to it."

They nod and hum and small-talk about groceries until they're done and washing it all down with the very last of the milk in the jug.

It's not until Cas is taking the mugs to the sink that he notices the fine string of caramel drying against the stubble on Dean's face.

He dumps the mugs off and just leaves them. There's the paper towels right next to him and the dish rag that Dean had dried his hands on nearby. But he steps forward, past them, and closes in on Dean's personal space.

He sweeps his thumb up the side of Dean's face to gather the stickiness and then offers the thumb.

They stand very still for a second.

"You want it?" Cas asks.

"N-no."

Cas nods. But he doesn't drop his hand.

"Yes," Dean corrects.

"Okay," Cas offers his thumb by pressing it against Dean's lips.

Dean licks the pad of it before pulling it into his mouth and giving a mighty suck, tongue curling.

He uses both of his hands to pull Cas's fingers from his mouth. And then takes each individually between his lips, lapping at the end, tasting.

"Good?" Cas asks, like they're just testing a marinara or something, like when they'll pass a spoon between each other to decide if something needs more salt.

Dean nods and pulls his middle finger into his mouth the whole way, sucking, then lets him go.

"Tastes just about right," Dean says. Shrugs one shoulder. "Could use a _little_ something."

"Like what?"

Dean draws Cas's hand around his neck and pulls him in and kisses him. Tongue across his lips as much as he can and then stroking into his mouth as he presses close.

"Dishes. The mugs," Cas says between their lips.

"Leave 'em."

«»

The bed bounces a little when Dean crashes back down on it. He laughs. He's pure joy. Laughs again when Cas practically bounds on top of him and the bed rattles.

It's squeaky and springy in a way that Dean's memory foam isn't and Cas is glad for it because each time a muscle clenches or a hip thrusts, he'll be able to hear it and he wants the noise. Wants to come together with Dean like a noisy celebration.

Yes, he's glad they stumbled into his own room first.  
Until Dean stops cold, head to the side, staring at the far wall, by the closet.

In the closet sits empty hangers and spare clothes.  
On the floor beside it, Castiel's packed bags.

Dean is scrambling out from under him before Cas has really made the connection. And by the time he's calling his name, Dean's already down the hall and in his room and slamming shut the door.

"Dean. _Dean_." Cas gets to his door and pounds twice with an open palm, "Dean!"

Silence.  
Absolute silence.

He knocks again. Three times, civilized, and asks if he can come in. No response.

Cas tries the door handle. Locked.

Fine.

He darts back to his room. Finds the lock-picking kit the Winchesters had taught him with and returns, starts in on unlocking the door-

and doesn't hear the shuffling so he almost falls forward when the door whips open in front of him.

He looks up from where he's crouched.

Dean. Silent, towering, stone-faced.

Cas scrambles to his feet.

"Why don't you just-"  
"I thought I had to be ready for-"

"Ready for _what_ ," Dean snaps, suddenly enraged, far from the stoic farce. "Ready for when heaven came fucking calling again?! Ready to leave at a moment's fucking notice? Fuck that and _fuck you!!_ "

"Ready for when Sam called with a hunt!" Cas shouts back. "Or when you couldn't stand it anymore and had to follow after him! I have to be ready or you'll leave me behind!"

"Who the fuck said I'd-- I haven't even!! What the _fuck_ about the last few weeks has made you think I'm _going_ anywhere?!"

"You ALWAYS DO. If it's Sam, _you'll go_. It's an _established set of facts,_ Dean."

"Nothing has been going on! YOU on the other hand, you barely moved into your room and you've got your fucking bags sitting around. PACKED! I should've fucking known it. The only time you ever _sit still_ is when you're _waiting to leave_."

Cas clicks his jaw shut. Puts a hand's length of space between them. He breathes for a moment, fearing every second that Dean will rear up and not let him reply. But Dean's still and determined, bound in certainty that he's right in what he said and busy finding grim satisfaction in it.

"Since the last hunt you've been in this bunker almost three solid months," Cas says, trying to keep his voice calm and steady. "It's the longest you've ever been shut up in here. You're happy on the road, when you're working, and you're happy here. I wanted to follow you on the road when you decided that's where you wanted to be."

Dean gives him a withering look like that was a weak defense.

"I understand, alright? Dean, I understand. I've left you in an instant too many times. I understand why you can't trust me. And I understand that all you have is my word that I don't want to leave you. That I _will not_ leave you. And." He takes a breath. And another step back. "To prove that to you. To show you that, now? I'll be here. In my room. I'll be here in the morning. Or if you.... ever. Want to speak to me." He shakes his head, spreads his hands. An open invitation. "I _will_ be here."

He drops his hands and sees nothing changed. Dean is completely unmoved. Totally disbelieving. Ready to push him further away, ready to break them apart once, now, rather than suffer deeper at some unknown point in the future.

He can tell that Dean's never going to fucking touch him again.

Cas's shoulders drop. He backs off. Down the hall. Before he turns into his own room he only adds: "Anyway. Thank you for the. Dinner. For everything."

He's sitting on his bed for a full minute before he hears the door shut down the hallway.

«»

He sleeps with the light from the hallway falling, unhindered, into his own room. A silent, but open, invitation.

He supposes it won't do much good to unpack the bags. It will look like some desperate scramble for self-correction.

It would also take up more time if Dean tells him to leave, shoves him out the door.

He stares at the glow from the hall for more time than he can even recall. He doesn't sleep much and it can't be for more than a couple hours.

Castiel wakes to the thought that, in sleep, he could have missed it if Dean left without him.

Might have.

He doesn't knock on Dean's door before he heads for the kitchen and the coffee pot.

It will go unanswered one way or another.

He's got his notebook of recipes he can work with, though he doesn't see the tablet anywhere. If he made something intricate and aromatic to cajole Dean out of his room, he'd really want to consult YouTube first.

For the first time in a long time, he settles for cereal only to remember that the damn milk's been used up.

Toast, then.

He waits for the bread to warm up while he stares at the sink. And the place next to the sink where he had stood and Dean had chosen to take his fingers into his mouth. Where dozens of times, now, they have leaned into each other while cleaning plates. Where they have cleaned fresh vegetables to feed and nourish one another. Where Dean made the decision. Where Dean chose to kiss him.

It had been more than he'd ever hoped for.

And his doubts had buried it all, anyway. He had doubted himself: doubted that his company would be enough. He had doubted Dean: doubted that Dean could go on for the full month without Sam.

Breakfast is normally so wonderful. Rich and filling and delicious.  
It isn't today. Toast and butter. Half of it ends up in the trash.

He cleans out last night's mugs and deals with the stray knives and forks.

He leans over the sink when it's done. Feels this vessel and how unable he is to pull away from it. He can crack his neck and he hears popping in his shoulder each time he stretches his left arm out. The metal of the sink is cold under his palms. Something in him that he can't pinpoint aches. He thinks this is a fragility of spirit; a depression.

Castiel has been alone and human before. He's not afraid of it. What's once been done can be repeated.

But he doesn't _want_ to be alone and human. He didn't want to be alone as an angel. Cas doesn't want to be alone. If he'd twigged to that earlier, pushed Dean away one or two fewer times, this wouldn't feel so inevitable. If he'd ever given Dean the _hope_ he's always deserved, perhaps there wouldn't be a solid wall of doubt behind his locked bedroom door.

He cleans the kitchen. They usually clean as they go but he makes sure it's pristine. Every surface sanitized, every pot and pan in place.

It's too dark in here. Underground, without the windows, he supposes it's always been too dark. Without Sam pacing in and out, impatiently waiting on the next creation as his stomach growls, without Dean joining him to help build flavors and break Cas's rigid adherence to recipes, it's just not as _alive_. The lack of light is the dominate feature.

When he's out of tasks and empty of appetite, he heads back to his room. His intention is to get clothes for a shower.

And his bags are missing.

Dean's door seems as black and foreboding as it had when he'd first locked it last night. It's shut up tight as if it had never opened.

Cas raps his knuckles against it and waits.

Dean opens it after only a brief moment.

"Hello, Dean."

"'Mornin'. Um. Can I tal- do you wanna-- Come in, Cas," and he steps aside.

Cas sees his bags by Dean's closet when he enters.

The phone buzzes on the nightstand. It's next to the tablet.

"I um. I Skyped. With Sam. For a little while."

"Alright," Cas says.

"He said. That I do dumb things and you pull stupid shit. And that things are different now. And I keep forgetting that."

Cas nods. "Do you agree with his assessment?"

Dean heaves a great, big breath. "Yeah. Pretty much."

"You didn't have to take my bags. I wasn't just going to leave."

"I know. I know that. Now."

"You know that now."

"Yeah," Dean flips a dismissive hand at the iPad. "I know that now."

They're quiet for a minute.

"Sam's a lot smarter than me," Dean says, by way of explanation.

Castiel roooolls his eyes and sighs. "He's not, Dean. He has a single skillset and knowledge range. You have a different skillset and knowledge range. It's what makes you such an excellent team. You're not unintelligent by any stretch of the imagination. You have two sets of experience that make you each better at complimentary things. That's not the same as being uneducated or ignorant."

Dean smirks, but it's small and wry and sad. "This is why I told him I don't deserve you."

"Well," Cas crosses his arms over his chest and falls to lean back against the wall, "I happen to think it's exactly why you need me."

"You can afford to be cocky when you're still holding that fried chicken recipe hostage," he jokes.

Cas isn't really in the mood to fuck around.

"It's yours. I'll give you anything if you'll let me stay."

It feels like a sad truth to admit. It sounds pathetic leaving his mouth. And he doesn't think anyone should be that desperate for anything. But he'd do a lot to keep Dean. To at least stay in his life. He'd do anything to take back a decision he made weeks ago on an assumption that Dean never even hinted at.

He'd threatened to _call_ Sam. But never to follow.

Cas started cooking for their family.  
And then Dean joined him in the kitchen and they started cooking for each other.

It's possible he undervalued what that's meant to Dean.

"I hadn't thought of how the bags would look. I was too lazy to pack on the fly, if we had to go. And I was being presumptive. I am sorry. I don't want to go. I wish you'd believe me about that."

Dean shakes loose and moves in close saying, "Hey, I got it. I get it, Cas. It was just what my mind went to. I was making assumptions about you, too. I'm sorry if you're sorry. And we move on. We move past it."

He tugs at Cas's folded arms until he straightens and drops them to his side.

"But you. Well." Dean hesitates. "This is another assumption. But you had most your stuff packed. So it was easy to haul it in here."

Castiel blinks, once, twice, slow.

"I mean. We already share food. We could. Share stuff. Share space, I mean, if you want to."

"Can we.... restart that thing? From last night?"

"If you want to," Dean repeats.

Cas doesn't really move, but he doesn't indicate to the negative. So, slowly, Dean closes in and puts his hands to Cas's face.

"Don't make me do all the work, I'm already pretty freaked out."

The phone buzzes from across the room again.

"Is that Sam?" Cas asks.

Dean nods. "Checking to make sure I apologized to you."

"Do you want breakfast?" Cas delays, though his hands move to Dean's hips and pull him close.

"Maybe. Yeah." He looks at Cas's lips. "Maybe I should brush my teeth first."

Cas shakes his head and he's the one who gets to choose. He's the one who gets to start the kissing this time.

«»

Breakfast is very important.  
But by the time they make it there, they might as well call it brunch.

Castiel burns the pancakes a little staring at the four-point fingerprint bruises appearing on the back of Dean's neck, dipping to his shoulder.

He will hold on too tightly sometimes. Usually when Dean is under his hands it's because he's hurt. That has to change. He has to ease up. It will come with time, he supposes. Practice. With the experience of not slipping through each other's fingers like water.

Dean pries the spatula out of his hand and flips the pancakes himself.

"From a box," he curses. "We gotta get to that grocery list."

Cas hums. "We might be busy today."

At the table, Dean yanks Cas's plate over and dumps the last withering blueberries on top of his stack before plucking out the pancakes with the perfectly-browned edges. Cas reaches over and forks up the splatter-shaped ones. Two plates this time because Cas likes the syrup from Wisconsin but Dean can't stand anything except the Vermont.

"We'll add pineapple to the list," Dean winks at him.

"Why?"

"Oh, no. Do I really have to explain this one to you?"

"Does it have to do with sex? That sounds sticky."

Dean frowns and wavers. "Not exactly. But kinda."

"What if we skewer pineapple and grill it with the--"

"OKAY, you just said 'skewer' and I was thinking about my dick. That was uncool."

Cas blinks. "Self-centered, on your part. Shouldn't you be thinking about mine?"

Dean slathers a quarter of a pancake in syrup and lets it drip from his fork. "Well, now I am. Not that I wanna get anything on the sheets, but I also don't think we can do it in here."

"Definitely not," Cas confirms, eyeing his pristine countertops.

"We could have saved the plates," Dean considers his pancake piece. "Could have just stacked it all on top of you," he adds when he's finally chewing.

Cas sets his own utensils down and reaches to turn Dean's face toward him. The syrup glistening on Dean's bottom lip has likely been left there with intent.

Their kisses will almost always have flavor.

«»

The highlight of their first official date night at the fondue place is not actually the cheese, though there's quite as much as Dean had promised him.

Rather, the best parts are the small bits. The perfect bites and well-coated pieces. They dip sticks of food into the warm cauldrons and Dean's always got the ones that look best to Cas. Castiel always finds the perfect morsels for Dean.

His beer is snagged away so Dean can try a darker ale. And he insists on the dessert fondue, which isn't cheese at all, but warm, melted chocolate and fruit and things to dip in it. There are graham crackers and marshmallows that Cas likes most. He splits a gooey bite of it right down the middle and passes the other half to Dean, who just pops it in his mouth and passes the coated disk of a banana.

Back and forth. Forks and dipping sticks forgotten in favor of fingers.

Sharing this way adds a perfect _little something_ to the taste.


End file.
